


Red

by WeNeedARuse



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Dom Dutch van der Linde, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sub Arthur Morgan, collar kink I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: "And Arthur?Naked, hard, needy.A red leather collar snug around his throat."Uh. Yeah.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, vandermorgan
Comments: 37
Kudos: 175





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I blame two things, 
> 
> ONE-That goddamn pic of Arthur in the fucking leather thing with the naked and the collarbones and the naked,  
TWO-Mango, because she showed me it knowing FULL WELL WHAT WOULD HAPPEN.
> 
> Soooooo, it's not as filthy as it could be but I'm just getting back into it. I guess it's more scene setting with a bit of ye ole porn thrown in. 
> 
> Please be gentle with me, I fear I have lost my mojo.
> 
> Comments and kudos especially welcomed:)

How in the goddamn hell did he even get here? The most exclusive hotel in the whole city, the most expensive room, the most exquisite whiskey.

And Dutch.

Fully dressed, one leg crossed over the other, cigar in one hand, whiskey glass in the other. Satan and God all wrapped up into one.

And Arthur?

Naked, hard, needy.

A red leather collar snug around his throat.

Why red? He’d asked when Dutch had slid up behind him, commanded him to strip, long calloused fingers brushing his skin as he looped the collar around him, sending Arthur into a tail spin he hadn’t even begun to get out of.

“You know why Arthur.”

Yes. Yes he knew why.

Red.

Blood, life, death, Dutch.

Dutch’s colour.

The red necktie he’d had on for dinner. The red waistcoat that Dutch had fucked him in that first time. The red gloves he wore to stop the obvious stain of blood. 

Red. Dutch and Arthur.

How is this going to play out? A thousand thoughts rush through his head, each one filthier than the last. Thoughts a year ago he wouldn’t have even allowed himself to entertain. Until Dutch, drunk and desperate and unlike anything he’d seen before, entered his room and pushed him down on the bed.

And now,

Oh, 

Arthur closes his eyes and drops his head back, putting himself on full display for him. For one man. One man only.

Come claim me.

He hears him take a sip of whiskey. He hears the drag of the cigar. The soft breath of smoke pushed out.

Come do it now, he thinks,

Before I stop myself.

“Come here.” 

Oh thank the lord.

Arthur moves, drops to his knees on the soft carpeted floor between Dutch’s spread legs. He looks up, wets his lips and watches as Dutch swallows the last of his whiskey, cigar already burnt out as he leans down,

Presses the softest of kisses to Arthurs open mouth.

The calm before the storm. The sweetness before the pain. Arthur leans into it, cranes his neck upwards to chase the taste of whiskey and cigar and Dutch, licks his tongue in,

A yank, a pull, fingers in the collar, shortening his breath.

He hears himself moan and knows that it’s beyond debauched. 

The pressure slackens.

“Oh, I like you like this Arthur.” Dutch murmurs above him, stroking one hand through Arthur’s hair, mussing up the pomade, sticking it out in all angles. Arthur lets him, closes his eyes and gives into it. 

“You like me naked, don’t much matter what I’m doing.” It’s the truth, after all.

“Mm,” Dutch curls his hand under Arthur’s jaw and tilts his head up, thumb pulling at his bottom lip. “Open for me.” 

Anything for you.

Arthur obeys.

Dutch shifts in his seat, unbuttoning his trousers and reaching inside. Arthur can already feel himself getting more excited at the prospect of his mouth on him,

He’s gotten good at it.

He bows his head, places his hands on Dutch’s thighs, closes his eyes,

Another pull, another yank, breath caught this time.

“Hm,” Dutch twists his fingers in the collar, tight at the nape of Arthur’s neck. He can feel his breath come short, his heartbeat thud. He watches Dutch, watches his mind work and twist and plot and plan.

Even in this, even in the bedroom, even between the two of them, Dutch’s mind is always working.

“I think I like this a little too much.” Dutch says suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. He moves behind Arthur, grips the collar again and pulls him to his feet. Strong arms wrap around his waist, holding Arthur back tight against that hard body.

“Isn’t that the point?” He manages to ask as Dutch presses a biting kiss to his shoulder.

“For me to come before you get that mouth on me boy?” Dutch laughs against his ear and Arthur thinks his whole body might give up on him, so unstable does he feel when Dutch laughs like that. 

“Yeah.” 

A hand strokes down his stomach, down to where he needs him most, down and wrapped around his cock. 

Arthur groans and drops his head against Dutch’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” He murmurs again, “Yes.” As Dutch strokes him loose and slow, thumb sweeping across the head of his cock, pressing just a little to make him jerk and gasp.

Fingers slide up the nape of his neck, brushing the collar for a moment before gripping a fistful of hair, twisting the short strands,

Pleasure and pain.

“Good boy.” 

Faster now, tighter. He can feel Dutch’s heartbeat thud against his back. He can feel the outline of his cock pressed against his ass and he rocks back onto him,

“Fuck me Dutch.” 

Never, in a million years, did he ever think he’d beg.

Never, in a million years, did he think he’d allow anything around his throat but a hangman's noose.

Never,

In a million years,

But Dutch laughs, and oh, that laugh, and strokes him harder.

“You want that.” Harder, faster, fingers in the collar again.

At the nape of his neck.

Twisting and pulling.

“You want me to fuck you.” 

He’s going to lose breath, lose something, he can’t he can’t he…

“You want me to make you mine.”

He’s going to come.

“You’re already mine, Arthur. I already own you.” 

Red collar around his throat. 

He’s going to come and he’s going to lose consciousness and Dutch is breaking down his will, his need, his thought process until all there is all there will ever be all there can be is,

Dutch.

“Dutch.” He chokes it out, voice broken and clipped, as the edge rushes full force towards him, white lights exploding behind his eyes,

Not even enough breath to cry out,

As he comes onto the lushly decadent carpet,

Stripes of white among the red.

Dutch doesn’t let go for a moment, keeps that hold on him until Arthur is almost certain he’s never going to let go,

And then,

He can breathe, finally, and he stumbles forwards, gasps in full gulps of air, even as he laments the loss of Dutch’s body against his back. He coughs, tries to gather himself, 

Because he’s never come so hard.

And Dutch knows it.

And Arthur knows he knows it.

Gasping for breath still, he turns as Dutch returns to his seat, unstoppers the decanter, and pours himself another whiskey. He tilts it to Arthur in a mock salute, and Arthur finds himself smiling as he says,

“Round one to me, I think.”


End file.
